oblivion is calling out your name
by saltzmans
Summary: In which Caroline is trapped in an abandoned house with no memory, her only company being a man called Klaus who seems to know everything about her—carolineklaus.
1. Chapter 1

**notes **| so, i was hit with this idea in the middle of a particularly boring maths lesson, and i plan for it to be a multi chapter but i have no idea where it's going to lead, so lets take it as it comes...i really hope you enjoy it! feedback would be much appreciated!

**warnings **| swearing, blood.

* * *

"most of our memory is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet…"

—**alain de botton**

.

Caroline Forbes awakes to sunlight. It's the bright kind, which burns her retinas as her vision focuses on the raftered ceiling above her. For a moment, as her surroundings – her body, her mind – come back to her, Caroline is suddenly taken aback by how blue the sky outside the chipped window is. It's the colour of forget-me-nots, tinged with wisps of cloud, the white sun glaring in it's centre.

For a moment, the endless expanse of the stratosphere leaves Caroline speechless, thoughtless, as if she's never seen anything like it before. Then, she's suddenly aware of a throbbing in the back of her head and her situation begins to spiral towards a climax. She's in an abandoned house – wrenching her gaze away from the window – Caroline can tell that much. The wallpaper is peeling, cobwebs line the corners of the room and there are empty wrappers and broken glass strewn across the floor.

But it's not the dilapidation of the house which proves to be the biggest concern to Caroline. Instead it's the fact that as she gazes around the room, Caroline can't remember how she got there. She knows that her name is Caroline Beula Forbes, and that she's eighteen years old and that the white trainers she's wearing are called Converse. She knows that scrunched up plastic packet by her foot used to contain Cadbury's Dairy Milk Chocolate, and she knows that the red which stains her white blouse is blood. She knows that the the white thing in the sky is the sun and it's a big ball of burning gas – a dying star.

What she doesn't know, however, is where she is. She doesn't know who are parents are, or whether she has a sister or brother. She can't remember who her friends are or what she liked at school. She can't remember what are favourite movie is or which actor she fancied when she was eight.

It's as if her life – her past – has been wiped clean. Everything that may have made her who she is has gone. She's Caroline Forbes and she knows nothing.

She doesn't know _why _there is blood across her chest. She doesn't know how she has come to be in an abandoned house with no memories except who she is and what things are. And as she clambers awkwardly to her feet and turns around, mind spinning, she realises she most definitely does not know who the man lying on the floor behind her is.

Caroline freezes as she catches sight of him, her mind going into panic mode as she takes in the bloodied – was that a _branch_? – in his hand, and the smear of red across his mouth. He's handsome, she thinks through the panic, in a kind of mother-would-never-approve way and in the muddled mess of her brain Caroline can't help that there's something oddly _familiar _about the way he lies, with his eyes closed – a sort of peacefulness which juxtaposes the blood on his face and the weapon in his hand.

She's just trying to comprehend her contrasting feelings, whilst simultaneously trying not to burst into tears and wracking her brain for an explanation – for something which would trigger a memory, a thought, _anything – _which would tell her why she was here, in this goddamn mess when the man begins to stir. It's a small movement at first: the branch he's holding rolls out of his grip, his hand loosening. Then, his eyes flick open and Caroline lets out a yelp, stumbling backwards against the wall.

Groggily, the man sits up, his eyes adjusting to the bright light, scouring the room, before finally fixing on Caroline. "You're okay?" He asks, and Caroline is taken aback my the accent in his voice as he stands up, moving towards her. "Did they hurt you?"

"Stay away!" Caroline's throat burns as the words leave her mouth. She gulps several times, suddenly aware of how thirsty she is. "Don't come anywhere near me."

"Caroline—" the man looks bewildered, stopping mid stride. "What's the matter – did they hurt you?"

"Stop!" Caroline's breath is ragged now. "just stop, please! Don't come any closer."

"Listen, love, you need to calm down!"

"Don't _call _me that!" Caroline yells. "Stay where you are! Please!"

"Caroline, tell me what happened! Did they hurt you?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?" Caroline's head is spinning, becoming disorientated. The room tilts, and Caroline slides down the wall, gripping the floor for support. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

A look of understanding briefly passes across the mans face before it is again replaced by one of confusion. "You—you really have no idea who I am?"

"I don't know who anyone is!" Caroline's shouting now, her voice echoing around the large room. "I don't know why I'm here or who I was past two minutes ago. I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know."

"Love," the man repeats, the endearment slipping from between his lips as if he's not fully aware he's saying it. Caroline barely notices. The air suddenly seems to hot, the room too stuffy. The tone of the man's voice has moved from confusion to concern. "Are you alright?"

"What do you fucking think?" Caroline's voice has been reduced to a sob. "No. No, I'm not okay!"

"Okay, okay," his voice is becoming fainter, as if Caroline is hurtling away from him. Her eyes begin to close. "Caroline!"

"Help. Please help me."

She falls sideways, the ground rushing up to meet her, and before her eyes close, Caroline is all too aware of the man's hands reaching out to catch her.

.

.

.

When she awakes, Caroline is no longer on the wooden floorboards of the raftered room. Instead, she's lying on a dusty sofa, the blue material coarse under cheek. She blinks a few times, trying to expel the crusty feeling from around her eyes. Her head still throbs. Her throat still burns. She still has no idea what is going on.

Taking in her surrounds, Caroline realises she has not left the house in which the previous room she was in had been. Rather, she is in what she presumes would have been the sitting room of the house. The same layer of grime still covers every surface and the same ethereal light from the blue sky pours through the large windows which dominate the wall in front of her, hung with faded floral drapes which are torn and tattered. A three legged coffee table stands precariously in front of her, laden with yellowed newspaper scraps and more dust. Matching armchairs to the sofa she is lying in, are placed artfully around the room. Half empty bookshelves and cabinets line the remaining walls.

The man is nowhere to be seen.

Caroline isn't entirely sure how she feels about that.

Moving into a sitting position, Caroline sifts through her options – of which there are not many – trying to figure out the best plan of action. She has no idea what to do or what she would have done – before she _forgot _everything and ended up in an abandoned house with a man who seems to know more about her than she did.

Finally, giving into the gnawing feeling her stomach and then dryness of her throat, Caroline decides on _food _as the best plan of action. She has no idea what she is craving – or what she likes, or what she could possibly allergic to – but she's feeling the fatigue of emptiness settling over her. Standing up, Caroline's joints complain, as if they haven't been used in days. She ignores them, moving cautiously towards the double doors at the far side of the room. Opening them, she finds herself in a large hall.

A domed ceiling stretches above her, painted with cloudy skies and winged cherubs playing flutes and ukuleles. Caroline can't help but think that who ever owned the house must have been really into overly-lavish interior design to paint a ceiling so repulsively. Ahead of her lies a door – it's big and wooden, with rows upon rows of unlocked locks and keys and chains. Unlocked. It doesn't take a memory for Caroline to put together that this means escape. Putting her hunger aside, Caroline sprints towards it, pulling it open and racing out into the sunlight.

Except–

Caroline hits the wall so hard she's thrown backwards, landing painfully on the bottom step of the grand staircase. _Fuck. _Still winded from her fall, Caroline looks in confusion, towards the open door. Outside an overgrown garden moves in the wind. There's no wall. No reason to explain what sent Caroline flying fifteen feet backwards. Slowly, she gathers herself, moving towards the door again – slowly, this time – stopping when she was an arms-length away. Reaching forward, Caroline expects her fingers to go right through, to feel a wind against her hand. Instead her fingertips graze what feels like marble. An invisible wall, stretching across the doorway.

Balling her hand into a fist, Caroline punches it. Nothing happens except a stinging sensation which spreads across her knuckles. Caroline swears, moving to one of the sash windows beside the door. Opening it, she cautiously presses her palm against the open space. It meets wall again. Caroline's mind reels. Reaching for a splintered piece of wood by her side, Caroline lifts it over her heard and hammers it against the window. The wood splits in half, splintering in Caroline's hand. She drops it, cursing.

"Don't tire yourself, love," comes a voice from behind Caroline, "I can guarantee you, I've tried everything."

Caroline whirls around. The man is standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the bannister, a wolfish smile lingering across his face.

"What're you doing?" Caroline spits. "Let me go."

"Oh, you wound me," the man pushes himself of the bannister with the feline gracefulness of a cat, "I can assure you, I'm not the one keeping you here."

"You're full of assurances, aren't you?" Caroline says, trying to keep her voice even, "how do you expect me to trust you? I don't even know who you are."

"Right," the man sighs, as if the weight of the world rests upon his shoulders. Caroline thinks momentarily how different he seems from when she first awoke. Gone is the concern, replaced by a snarky bitterness. "The whole memory loss thing. Well, lets get the introductions out of the way – I'm Niklaus."

"Niklaus?" Caroline questions. The name sounds heavy and unfamiliar on her tongue.

Something strange crosses the mans face. "Just call me Klaus."

"Klaus," Caroline repeats and this nickname seems freer. "Right."

"I suppose you're wondering why we're here?" Klaus asks.

"Yes."

"Well, that makes two of us," Klaus sighs and for a moment Caroline sees the emotions from their first encounter. "What's the last thing you remember? Maybe we can try to piece together a story from there."

"I told you," Caroline says, "I don't remember anything from my past."

"So you don't remember Stefan? Or Elena and Bonnie? Or fucking Damon?" Klaus' gaze bores into her as he pauses. "You don't remember Tyler?"

"Do you not understand the definition of nothing?" Caroline snaps. "I know nothing from my past or present or future or anything."

"Well, it's unsurprising you know nothing of your future," Klaus drawls.

"Not helpful," Caroline reprimands. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"We were in the Grill," Klaus narrows his eyes. "And there was that girl. You were telling me off for flirting with her – which I wasn't, by the way."

"Why would I care if you were flirting with someone?" Caroline asks, curiously.

"That's beside the point," Klaus hurries on, refusing to make eye contact with Caroline. "There was just something odd about her–"

"Odd?" Caroline questions. Her mind is spinning again, and she grips the windowsill, trying not to fall over again.

"Yeah, something–" Klaus stops, looking concernedly at Caroline. "Are you quite alright, love?"

"Yes," Caroline murmurs. Her eyesight is shifting in and out of focus. "No. I'm hungry. My head keeps spinning and my vision keeps going."

"Fuck," Klaus curses and there's a sudden blur and he's by her side, faster than anything Caroline can comprehend, gripping her arm.

"What?" The fast movement has made her head hurt even more. "How did you do that? That's not possible."

"Easy, love," Klaus slips an arm around her shoulder and Caroline is feeling too weak to even push him away. "You need blood."

"Excuse me?" Caroline twists to look at him, to see if he's joking but Klaus' face is a expressionless.

"God, this is going to be hard to explain," Klaus says exasperatedly. "I might as well get it over with. Caroline, you're a vampire."

"A _what_?" Caroline asks incredulously. Her stomach cramps uncomfortably and she collapses against Klaus. He bears her weight, manoeuvring them into the living room, where he places Caroline on one of the dusty armchairs. She coughs as a cloud of dusty flurries around her.

"Don't tell me I'm going to have to explain what a fucking vampire is," Klaus says, standing above her. "You're undead. You drink blood. You have fangs. You don't sparkle in the sun. You'd burn to a fucking crisp if it wasn't for that ring." He nods to a large band on her finger.

"This isn't funny, Klaus," Caroline explodes. Her brain is pounding now. "What the fuck is happening to me."

"Blood lust – cravings," Klaus spits out. "You've gone more than twenty four hours without blood. You need to feed on me."

"Can't you just get me a fucking banana. I'm not drinking blood!"

"You have to!" Klaus yells. "Or your going to pass out again!"

"I'm not drinking your fucking blood," Caroline shouts, matching Klaus tone. She collapses against the back of the chair, the room spinning alarmingly, the shouting draining her.

"For fucks sake," Klaus moves away from Caroline, reaching for a shard of glass from the smashed mirror on the floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Caroline yelps.

"Saving you," Klaus grumbles. "I seem to be doing that a lot today."

"STOP!" Caroline yelps, as the glass slices through Klaus skin. Beads of red begin to appear in the gash. "You're mad!"

"Don't worry, love, I'll heal. Although your concern _is_ touching," Klaus comments moving towards her.

Caroline tries to stand up, move away from the blood but there's something captivating about the blood which is spilling from Klaus' arm. Something about the red drips which captivate Caroline. She leans forward, only partly aware of what she's doing – one half of her craving the blood, the other half repulsed. The cravings win because Caroline closes the final gap, sinking her teeth – fangs? – into Klaus' arm.

He lets out a half gasps, and she a groan as the blood spills down her throat. Klaus had been right – this was what she had been needing, craving, wanting. She's only partially aware of Klaus, who's standing above her, eyes closed, mouth half open as she drinks from him, his chest rising and falling heavily. There's something oddly intimate about this – not just because she's drinking his blood, but something more, something deeper.

Caroline is just trying to figure out the feeling when Klaus pulls his arm away. Caroline stares up at him, breathing deeply. Her fatigue is gone, instead she feeling empowered, awake, alert. "T–thanks, I guess," she mutters, not entirely sure of the etiquette to follow after drinking someone's blood.

Klaus looks slightly dazed, wiping his arm which seems to have miraculously healed on his shirt. "No problem."

"So, I'm a vampire then?"

"Yes."

"And so are you?"

"Yes."

"Which is why you can move so fast and heal so quickly."

Klaus smirks, seemingly back to his normal self. "You're a quick learner, love."

"Okay. I can deal with that."

"I'm glad," he says shortly, "now, where were we?"

It takes Caroline a moment to comprehend his words because after all the drama of the last fifteen minutes – the blood drinking, the fangs, the discovery that she's a _fucking vampire _– she's still a little disorientated and the whole memory-loss-thing has almost escaped her mind.

"Right. Witch," she replies, vaguely. "You were flirting with a witch. She was odd."

Klaus grins. "Yes, the witch…and may I add, I was not flirting with her!"

.

.

.

_please don't favourite/follow without leaving a review. _


	2. Chapter 2

**notes **| okay, well i'm a pile of awfulness who fails at updating and you're absolutely lovely readers who have left an outstanding response on this story - thank you all so, so much! here's the second chapter (i'm sorry it took so long) and i'm not entirely sure how i feel about it so any feedback would be much appreciated!

**warnings **| swearing, violence.

* * *

As the day moves on and the pieces of Klaus' story fall together, the pair discover that very few threads of the tale make sense. An hour or so later, Caroline collapses against the dusty chair she's been sitting in, stretching her stiff legs, her mind buzzing from the overload of information.

From what she's managed to gather, they pair of them had been at a bar – the details of which Klaus was still being shady about – when a girl, who Klaus had proclaimed to have a witchy air to her, had started talking to them. That was about as far as Klaus had really gotten, his memories between then and waking up in the house being scattered, with only short bursts of colour, and the occasional words in the darkness.

Klaus had then proceeded to inform Caroline about vampirism, and with the combined memory loss and quagmire of information, Caroline is feeling utterly exhausted by the time Klaus trails off about his short stunt in New Orleans.

"What made you come back?" Caroline asks, curiously. Throughout their conversations, Klaus had seemed to have let his guard down, being less of the jerk who had laughed at her when she ran into the forcefield – or whatever it was that was preventing them from leaving the house – and more of the man who had caught her as she had collapsed earlier in the day, but now at Caroline's question, his face darkens.

"A few things," Klaus says, stonily. His face is expressionless. "Mystic Falls has a way of reeling me back in."

"Did you fall out with your siblings?" Caroline questions.

"No, I–" Klaus stops. "That's a story for another day."

Caroline ceases questioning. From the few hours they've been together, Caroline has figured out the boundaries and she realises now, more lines of enquiry would be breaking them. Instead she changes the subject, "so then, what do we do now?"

"What?" Klaus looks at her in confusion, seemingly miles away. "What now?"

"Get out of here," Caroline prompts, "I mean we obviously can't stay here forever and I can't…feed off you forever and you're going to need blood soon, so what's our escape plan?"

"Our _escape _plan?" Klaus asks in amusement.

"Yeah," Caroline furrows her brow. "Aren't escape plans a thing? I could have sworn that they're a thing."

"If you're Jason Bourne they are, love," Klaus replies, chuckling.

"I do have a name you know," Caroline chides. "And who's Jason Bourne?"

"Oh, the joys you'll have of re-watching films when we're out of here," Klaus mutters, ignoring her reprimand, "I have a half a mind to ruin Harry Potter for you."

"Well, I won't be watching much unless you come up with an escape plan."

"Why do I have to be the one to come up with a bloody plan?"

"Because you're the thousand year old vampire," Caroline points out, "and I have no memory."

"I'm far better at plotting nefarious crimes than escape plans," Klaus grumbles, "it was always Team Good who did the escape plans."

"Team Good?" Caroline asks in bewilderment.

"Oh you know–" Klaus begins.

"Well, no," Caroline replies, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a figure of speech, love," Klaus rolls his eyes, "and Team Good, for future reference, is your lovely self, my brother, Saint Stefan Salvatore, occasionally his brother, Little Miss Gilbert, her hunter brother, everyone's favourite Bennett Witch. The usual suspects."

"So you're on Team Evil, then?" Caroline asks.

"The line isn't quite as distinct as that, love," Klaus replies, shifting on his chair so his legs are hanging over the arm, "I'd say I'm on Team Ambiguity. Team Evil is far more Katherine Pierce."

"Right," Caroline agrees, her mind beginning to spin from the overload of information.

"But anyhow, seeing you're the only representative of Team Good and happen to be suffering from memory loss, I suppose I can just about deal with taking the load of an escape plan," Klaus teases.

"You're too kind."

"Aren't I just?" Klaus smirks.

"So what's the plan?" Caroline asks.

Klaus sighs. "I'm not particularly accustomed to being on Team Good."

"Why can't we just get a message to one of your – our – friends and they can do the escape planning," Caroline suggests.

"That _would _be good, aside from the small problem of having no way of communicating with them," Klaus points out.

"Don't you have a phone?" Caroline asks. "Don't _I _have a phone?"

"Well, yes," Klaus says, "but not at this present moment. Mine's dead." He holds his blank screen.

Caroline collapses defeatedly into her chair. The beginning of a migraine was begin to creep into the edge of her vision and spending one more minute than necessary in the abandoned house seemed just about as appealing as losing her memory. Again. She's just trying to get herself around the inevitable when there's a vibration against her hip. Caroline tenses.

"Alright, love?" Klaus asks, watching her curiously.

"I just buzzed," Caroline says, leaping off the chair.

"_Excuse _me?" He looks at her in confusion but as Caroline reaches into her back pocket, clarity dawns across his face.

"Slightly crap kidnappers, ours are, if they've left us with a working phone!" Klaus exclaims, excitedly bounding out of his chair to stand by her, peering over her shoulder as she switched the iPhone on. A picture of a woman with cropped blonde hair and a younger Caroline, both beaming, is set as the lock screen. A notification reads that there is one new message from Elena Gilbert.

Eagerly, Caroline moves her finger to open the message but her face falls almost at once.

"Did I really set a fucking password?" She groans.

"To be fair, love," Klaus says, "you probably didn't apprehend memory loss in your near future."

"But _still_," Caroline complains, "we were so close and now we've been stopped by four bloody numbers."

"Alright, alright," Klaus takes the phone away from her, studying the lock screen, "we still might be able to do this." He types in four numbers. A buzz. The screen flashes red.

"What did you try?" Caroline asks.

"Your birthday," Klaus muses.

"Which is?"

"October 10th 1992," Klaus replies, the words flowing off his tongue as if it takes nothing to remember.

"And you know that because?" Caroline asks, trying to get her head around _why _a man she doesn't know, seems to know more about her than she herself did.

"We've known each other for a while, love," Klaus says idly, "I pick things up. And of course, I may have invited myself to your eighteenth birthday party." He types another combination of letters into the phone. Nothing.

"And those numbers were?"

"Your lucky numbers," Klaus replies, "seven, ten, and fifteen."

"How do you know so much about me?" Caroline asks curiously.

Klaus stiffens, a haunted look clouding over his eyes. "I pick things up," he repeats, amiably before tapping in four more numbers. There's a beat of silence and then the lock screen disappears, replaced by a list of unopened text messages. Caroline lets out a victorious yelp but Klaus' face remains distinctly emotionless.

"Are you alright?" Caroline probes. "We got in."

"Yeah," Klaus shakes his head slightly, as if trying to rid himself of a particularly persistent bug buzzing around his ears. "Yeah, we got in."

"What was the passcode?"

"Two-two-zero-eight," Klaus replies blankly, opening opening up the most recent text.

"And they are?" Caroline asks.

"Numbers," Klaus replies, still refusing to let the slightest inkling of sentiment into his voice, "a lucky guess."

"Really?" Caroline asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. There was something odd happening to Klaus — as if her passcode had bought up a complex he wasn't ready to delve into.

"Yes, really," Klaus snaps, tersely. He hands the phone to Caroline, refusing to meet her eyes. "You've got a lot of texts."

Caroline snatches the mobile off Klaus, suddenly angry that he felt he had the right to hold the missing pieces of her memory — of her _life _— back from her. Glancing down at the screen, she sees a collection of unopened texts from Elena, ranging from ones sent the previous morning to ten minutes ago, each one growing increasingly more frantic.

_hey, care! i've got a lecture at ten this morning but do you want to meet up for coffee afterwards? we've got a lot to catch up on! call me xoxo_

_enjoy tonight with klaus — don't have too much fun now ;) xoxo_

_hey, care — you didn't come home? assuming ur with klaus? let me know ur ok xox_

_pick up your phone!_

_care, it's been 12 hours — r u ok? text me now xox_

_everyone's looking for you — please call someone! r u with klaus? _

_fuck, please pick up we're all worried._

After that there was a supply of similar texts from Stefan, Damon, Bonnie and Jeremy. Caroline's stomach turns over whilst reading them because even though she has no memory of any of them their concern is oddly touching.

"That's all of them," Caroline says with a sigh, turning to Klaus who peers at the phone. He's still got the broken air abut him but Caroline's found all the anger she had previously felt towards him has drained away, replaced by a mixed feeling of pity and bitterness.

"Wait!" Klaus stops her as she goes to turn of the phone, pointing at a text underneath Elena's first message. It's from an unknown number, sent at seven o'clock the previous morning. "What's that one?"

Brow furrowed, Caroline clicks on it and reads the short sentences. _Meet me at the Grill in an hour. If you want to know anything, come alone. I'll be the one sitting at the end of the bar wearing a red jumper. –Z. _

"Z?" Klaus questions, raising an eyebrow. "Now, that one's definitely on team evil…"

"Who is she — or he — though?" Caroline asks. "Do you think they kidnapped us?"

"I'm not sure," Klaus ponders. "The messages says for you to come alone. Why would I remember being at the Grill with you if you were meant to be alone?"

"And what does it mean that they'll tell me everything?" An apprehensive shiver runs down Caroline's spine. There was an oddly hair-raising tension surrounding the whole situation.

"The plot thickens, Scooby Doo," Klaus says.

"Scooby Doo?"

"Never mind — children's television," Klaus replies, rolling his eyes.

"Now what would a murderous hybrid know about children's TV?" Caroline teases.

"Everyone knows about Scooby Doo," Klaus replies, defensively. "Velma, Daphne, Shaggy, Scooby and Frank in the Mystery Machine, fucking things up left, right and centre. They're a villain's worst nightmare."

"Yeah, but for a thousand year old vampire you seem to know an awful lot about it," Caroline grins.

"Beside the point!" Klaus mutters. "We're supposed to be coming up with an escape plan here, not arguing about Saturday morning cartoons! Give me the phone!"

Caroline laughs, but obligingly hands the phone to Klaus. "What're you going to do?"

"Call for backup," he mutters, tapping in a number.

"Who?" Caroline asks.

"I think Stefan would be our best bet," Klaus puts the phone to his ear. There's a long pause before Klaus curses, exasperatedly looking back down at the phone. "There's no signal!"

"I had signal just a moment ago!" Caroline exclaims. "How else would Elena's text managed to come through?"

"Must be a ropey connection," Klaus mutters, glancing out of the window. "We're surrounded by trees, they must be messing up the signal."

"Well, we're screwed then," Caroline mumbles, collapsing back into her armchair.

"That's remarkably un-Caroline-ish," Klaus comments.

"Yeah, well, I can't even remember who Caroline really is so you're going to have to get used to it," Caroline replies darkly. The light headedness from early has began to return, clouding the edge of her mind. She briefly considers asking Klaus for more blood but decides against it. She only fed a couple of hours ago — she's probably tired more than anything else.

"Easy, love," Klaus says, "we'll get your memories back. I promise."

"How am I supposed to trust you on anything?" Caroline snaps. "From what I can gather you're nothing but a murderous hybrid who's tried to kill my friends and I on more than one occasion. Who the fuck knows — maybe you're the one who trapped me here!"

"Love—" Klaus begins.

"Don't fucking call me that," Caroline's shouting now, her voice trembling. She can feel tears burning at the back of her eyes and she doesn't know why because she's not sad or scared or broken, all she is is _angry. _"I have a name — I'm not your love or sweetheart or whatever creepy-ass pet name you call me."

"Caroline," Klaus' reaches for her arm, but Caroline yanks it away, leaping out of her chair.

"Don't talk to me!" Caroline's running now, not fully aware of what she's doing. All she knows is she needs to get away. "Don't come near me!"

She sprints out of the room, into the hall. Ahead of her, the front door is open like it had been before. Outside, the overgrown garden sways in the wind. Caroline's mind reels. All she can think about is how she needs to get out of the dusty, empty house. No matter what. She's running to towards the door — freedom is a breaths width away; she's going to do it, she's going to get there, get away.

And then, all of a sudden, Caroline's feet are swept away from under her and her back hits the floor. Her breath is knocked out of her and she tries to focus on one thing — something, anything — but it's all come together in one blurred mess. She tries to move, to sit up but there's something pressing into her hips and shoulders. A voice breaks through the whirling mess in her mind—

"Caroline! Come on! What's happening? Wake up! What on earth were you thinking of — you could've broken every bone in your body at the speed you were running!"

Caroline sucks in a lungful of air, squeezing her nails against the palm of her fist, trying to concentrate. She's lying down — Caroline can feel the cool marble floor beneath — her but the world seems to be spinning, moving, turning, and she can't _fucking focus _on a single thing.

"Caroline," Klaus' urgency breaks through the turmoil. "I need you to concentrate. Focus on me — focus on you. Come on! You need to do this."

"How-how," she manages to spit out, each word causing her vision to shudder and blur even more violently. "How am I meant to focus on myself when I don't even know who I am?"

"Alright, alright," Klaus fingers dig harder into Caroline's shoulders. "Let me tell you who you are, alright? Your name is Caroline Buela Forbes. You hate your middle name so you convinced everyone in Kindergarten that it was actually Hyacinth because that's your favourite flower. Your favourite season is summer because you like the heat and the colour and the vibrance. You can't stand the rain because you feel like you're drowning and it also gets your hair wet. You're terrified of small spaces since Katherine suffocated you when you were turned. You like chocolate and romantic comedies and you cry when your angry—"

"Stop it!" Caroline's voice caught in her throat. Somehow, the barrage of information was making everything worse. How did Klaus know all this about her? Was he even telling the truth? Why couldn't she concentrate? "I need to think! I need air! I need—"

"No, no," Klaus' tone matches Caroline's hysteria. "You need to come back. You need to understand! You're Caroline Forbes. You're Caroline Forbes, and I lo—"

"STOP!" The word leaves Caroline's mouth in a howl and for a moment everything seems to stand still — perfectly, crystal clear. Caroline sees Klaus' face above hers, frozen — his eyes bright and filled with worry. Behind him the dusty, old house has a shine to it — the marble floors glowing under the glare of the sun. Then as quickly as it happened, the moment fades and Klaus is shaking Caroline's shoulders.

"Hey, hey," Caroline mutters, her mouth feels like something has crawled into it and died. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

Klaus stops, looking at her. "Are you sure?" There's a guarded look to him, and Caroline is suddenly very aware of what he had been saying to her before she snapped out of her daze.

"Yeah, yeah," Caroline blinks a few times, trying to get the itchy feeling out of her eyes. "Could you get off me please?"

Klaus looks confused, as if he's not entirely sure what she's asking. Then he seems to realise that he's kneeling above Caroline and awkwardly moves away, leaning heavily against the wall. Caroline manoeuvres herself into a sitting position.

"What happened?" She asks.

"I could ask you the same thing, love," Klaus counters, "one moment we were trying to call Elena and the next moment you flipped. It was as if you weren't yourself."

"I couldn't breathe," Caroline murmurs, "I couldn't focus or see or _anything_."

"I figured," Klaus replies. "It was like you were possessed."

Caroline stares intently at the ground. "Maybe I was…" she muses, "you said the woman at the Grill was a witch. Maybe she was the one who put us here. Maybe she caused something to possess me — take control — and that's why I flipped."

"Perhaps," Klaus replies, still refusing to meet her eyes.

"What's your problem?" Caroline snaps, suddenly annoyed by Klaus' regression. They'd just been starting to work together and now he'd been reduced back to the moody asshole who she had woken up to. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Oh, wait," Klaus replies, sarcastically. "Let me think. Maybe because you almost tried to kill yourself by running full speed at that door. Maybe because I thought you were almost going to die."

"I'm a freaking vampire! I wasn't going to die!"

"We're trapped in an abandoned house together and you have no memories of me—of anything! How am I supposed to know that the rules haven't changed?"

"Why do you even _care _so much?" Caroline spits out. "From what you've told me you're _nothing _to me, _nothing_."

"You don't know everything," Klaus hisses. His face is dark, eyes downcast.

"Then tell me — fucking tell me!" Caroline yells. "Do you expect me to work it out for myself?"

"No," Klaus' tone is petulant.

"No? No? You're telling me no? I have no fucking memory, Klaus. I have a right. What's your fucking deal? And why the fuck do you know so much about me? What were you saying before whilst I was in the state? Because I don't think I would tell a murderous hybrid that much about me, unless you're some stalker—"

Caroline's rant is cut off mid sentence as Klaus slams her against the wall, his forearm holding her throat against the stone. His face is inches from hers and Caroline can see his incisors beginning to sharpen, veins appearing round his eyes. "I would advise you to stop right there, _love_," he rasps, "stop digging. There are some things you're not meant to find out."

"Klaus—" Caroline manages to breathe out, "Klaus stop."

Klaus glares at her, the intensity of his gaze so harsh that Caroline drops her gaze. "Please," she whispers, "let me go, Klaus."

Her words seem to reach some small part of Klaus because in a heartbeat she crumples against the floor again. Klaus falls to his knees beside her. "Caroline," he whispers, "Caroline, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happen, this house is messing with me, with yoy, with us–I'm sorry!"

He reaches out, but Caroline flinches away. "Don't touch me," she hisses, rubbing the aching marks on her neck where his fingers had dug into her skin.

Klaus moves away as if her words had burnt him. "I'm sorry," he repeats and for a moment Caroline is taken aback by the deep sincerity of his words.

They sit like that for how long, Caroline doesn't know, but the tension between them seems to stretch on for centuries. Outside the light begins to fade, a cool draft begins to blow through the open door.

"Klaus," she tries to begin but the sentence is broken by a sharp musical sound from the living room. Beside, her Klaus stiffens and from somewhere deep in her subconscious, Caroline matches the sound.

It's the sound of a phone ringing.

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